The Irish standard., 1887-11-19

But the funn lest sight that her efforts afford
lis when she performs with ~ saw on a board.
With her knee Oh a plank, and the plank on
chair,
She poises her saw with knowing air,
Makes several dives at the penciled line,
And is off with 4 whiz the reverse of fine.
With lips compressed, she bends down to ths
work,
And crosses the timber jerlxety-jerk;
She can't keep the line, and her knee sltpi
askew, j.
But she keeps to her work till the board split.
She has damaged the chair, she has ruined the
saw,
Her back is all aching, her hands, too, are raw
And she finds, when to fit now the plank she
tries
1t falls an inch short of the requisite size.
-~ErchaDqs
Comet Like the breath oi y story
That faltered on faintiug lips.
Gene Like the rainbow's brief tory,
Hid by the black nights eclipse.
Conc! Like the mystic blending
OF the nucs of the morning fair:
Gone! Like the swift dove ascending
Through the deep Of Heavens pure sir.
Gone! And this lips that have spoken
The words that cur heart-strings have thrilled
Are sealed with q silence unbroixen,
And the voice OF life's music is stjlled
q grave, that lSnowest no returning,
o blaclness Of darkness and death,
O woo OF q worldiess vearning,
G. God OF an infinite faith,
Ely Thee have the chains been riyen,
BY Thee, the sepulchre rent
And we turn to Thee, Maker of Heaven,
The Just, the Qtlnirotent.
--Eyre,1 ". King. ias NJ. I. 0bssruer.
A Bachelors Song.
lAir-'tPure, Cold Water."l
lam stern old bachelor,
Ny age is torty-four,
lido declare, I'll never live
With women any more.
Little sod shanty,
Sod shanty give tome,
For I'm q stern old bachelor;
From matriraoEy free.
Tive upon q homestead claim,
Fro11 women am hid,
I TO not have to dress wife,
Or take care Of a, kid.
Ecook my little, dirty bite
Three times or less day;
I lick my plates 10 keep them clean,
Aud just shove things away. :.
Ihave q stove that's worth ten cents,
A table worth fifteen,
cook my grub in oyster cans
Ard always have things clean.
On Sunday morn go to church
Without wife to storm;
My latest paper is not rolled up
To beautify her form.
Igo 10 bed whene er please,
And get up just the same;
Ichange my socks three times year
With no one to complain.
And when die and go to Heaven
AS all old bachelors do,
1 will not have to grieve foc fear
My wife won't get there, teo.
Farm and FsreetIe
The Dear Old Songs of Homo.
Some simple word my heart has stirred.
And thought in fancy strays.
With halt-heard rhyme and rhytamic chime.
10 DOynOOttS Happy Gays.
Like far-on bells faint ringing,
The memories cid are clinging;
Now family, now clear, again Ihear
My mother sweetly singing
Singing,
Sweetly singing,
The dear old songs OF home.
All, happy boyl with unmixed Joy;
How sweet the days OF cid,
When meath our gaze the tirelight's blaze
Shot up it's spears of gold
/ see the kettle swinging,
The shadows round il clinEins,
It'll once again in sweet refrain
Ihear my mother singing
Singing, 81
Sweetly singing,
@ The dear old sonEs OF home.
No lapse Of time can still the chime
# Ofthese far-hidden bells;
But In my ears, thro' all these years,
The old.time music dWells.
. And now mid be1ls' clear ringing,
With holy thoughts up-sprnxing;
Now faint, now clear, again hear
Ny mother swoetly singing
Singing, 81 j3s8!
y sweetly singing,
The dear old songs OF homo.
Fred e. WoodsOard, e. Jpa1AsAe ets~ 0ete.
I4AxD Ia Berlin has.. ..acc1usA Is valus AaI.s
s. the last bali century - hesallsk3